


One Way Ticket

by coco_finny



Category: Undertale
Genre: 18+ ONLY, AU of an AU, Alternate Universe - Underlust (Undertale), Bodily Harm, Female Reader, Implications of Emotional Abuse, Implications of child abuse, Multi, Non-binary Flowey, Reader Insert, Slow Burn, Strong Religious Implications, TAGS WILL BE UPDATED WHEN APPROPRIATE, Undertale AU, explicit content, implications of sex, mild violence, rating for future chapters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-28 10:24:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17785610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coco_finny/pseuds/coco_finny
Summary: "The mouth of the mountain is not high, but you can no longer hear the crowd – they must have left once you hit the bottom of the pit, unable to see you.“Wait!” you shout. “Wait! Come back!”The echoes of your desperate plea is your only response.You shiver and hug your shoulders, gazing up at the crater’s opening. Then you do the only thing you can think to do; you pray.You came here to learn of what happens to the people who go missing, the Matron had taunted as the women dragged you towards the only known entrance to the forbidden Underground.Well, this is what happens."In a world that still feels the effects of the monsters' rule, and the influence of the feared Horned God, you investigate a series of disappearances in a small, sleepy town closest to the dreaded mountain that traps them. Your search for the truth, however, lands you in the the Horned God's domain. If you cannot escape the Underground with your soul still intact, then you are doomed to become another missing person case, and the world shall never know the truth behind the sinister town at the base of the mountain.You cannot give up just yet - you have to see justice served.





	One Way Ticket

**Author's Note:**

> !!!!!!PLEASE READ!!!!!!!
> 
> HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY!
> 
> Ive been sitting on this fic for so long! I've wanted to do an Underlust fic for such a long time, and here it is, finally!!!
> 
> Firstly, i must stress: DO NOT READ THIS FIC IF YOU ARE UNDER THE AGE OF 18!!! Future chapters of this fic WILL contain explicit content not suitable for younger readers! This is your warning now! Click that back button! Do it!!
> 
> Secondly: Underlust belongs to [nsfwshamecave!](https://nsfwshamecave.tumblr.com/) They have put an update on their blog regarding themselves and their amazing AU, so please read it if you can! 
> 
> Thirdly: if you came here for immediate sex, you shall be disappointed! The first few chapters will not feature any smut [sorry!] so youre gonna have to edure me world-building the heckle-smeckle out of this fic before we get to that!!
> 
> Fourthly: Tags will be updated when appropriate! Promise! <3 
> 
> Fifthly: hey! ive made a new blog for this! if you have any questions, or just wanna talk about nsfw stuff [im pretty chill about it] then come see me at [finssinbin!](https://finssinbin.tumblr.com/) woo!
> 
> WARNINGS WILL BE ADDRESSED FOR EACH CHAPTER

 

-One Way Ticket-

_-_

_I had a one way ticket to the place where all the demons go,_

_Where the wind don’t change,_

_And nothing in the ground can ever grow._

Alive - Sia

-

Prologue

\- -

 **Warnings for chapter:** Mentions of Violence, Implications of Child Abuse, Implications of Emotional Abuse, Descriptions of Bodily Harm, Strong Religious Implications

-

 

You fall…

You fall…

The Matron’s last words are ringing in your ears, and the din of the crowd follows you down.

 _Harlot! Bitch! Tramp!_ they shout as you drop like a dead weight into the gaping maw of the mountain.

You fall…

You fall…

You land on something soft, like velvet…and yet it does little to cushion the impact.

You cry out when something in your leg spasms, and sends an almighty flare of pain shooting up your limb. You curl over and clutch at your shin, and wetness is smeared across your palms.

Blinking through the tears and the blinding agony, you shrug off your backpack and search through it. The Matron must have packed you some bandages, at least? She’s given you enough food to last…perhaps a few days, and a heavy canteen filled to the brim with water… But there are no bandages.

You bite your lip to stifle your sobs, and you pull your hands back to assess the wound – your leggings have ripped in several places, and there’s a long, bloody gash across your shin, but it’s not very deep; the pain feels nothing like the sting of a small cut…it’s as though someone has tried to hack your shin in half with a blunt axe.

You lie back and attempt to wait for the pain to pass, but it doesn’t go quickly. Once the pain dulls just enough for you to cease crying, you sit up and gaze at the enormous crater that you were thrown through by the angry townspeople…

The mouth of the mountain is not high, but you can no longer hear the crowd – they must have left once you hit the bottom of the pit, unable to see you.

“Wait!” you shout. “ _Wait! Come back!_ ”

The echoes of your desperate plea is your only response.

You shiver and hug your shoulders, gazing up at the crater’s opening. It’s definitely not too high, but the edges of the cave are smooth, with no rough crags or jutting rocks to grip. And even if you did manage to climb high enough, you wouldn’t be able to reach the mouth of the cavern, rimming the centre of the ceiling like a halo. Long emerald vines tumble over the edge of the hole, but they certainly aren’t within jumping distance, not even close…

The eerie trickling of water bounces off the walls of the cave, a steady _drip, drip, drip_ that comes at you from all directions – it’s impossible to tell where the source is. But the cave is not as dark as you had thought, gazing into it from the edge of the pit. The rock walls are stained a mixture of lilac and blue, like the inside of a sea-shell, and seem to reflect the weak light leaking through the cave’s entrance. Ringing the cavern are crumbling structures that indicate that there used to be some sort of building here; the pillars are badly cracked and covered with winding vines that almost swallow them whole. There’s a large archway relatively intact at the far end of the cave, crested by a fading mural that you can barely read from this distance...

And the cavern floor is _covered_ with roses.

You’ve never seen so many flowers, all the same, deep, blood-red colour, filling the cavern with their perfumed scent. That explains the cut – you must have snagged a particularly sharp thorn. Careful not to catch yourself on the prickly stems, you gently brush your trembling fingertips over a delicate petal of a nearby rose…and you whimper.

The Matron had told you that roses are banned in the town, abhorred for their connotations; impure love, romance…

You fumble about in the pack for your cell-phone – strangely, the Matron let you keep it. You can only hope that it wasn’t damaged during your fall.

The rage on the women’s faces is burned into your memory; their vile words and accusations they threw at you as they dragged you towards the mountain are stuck on a loop in your ears.

Your fingertips brush against your cell, and you pull it out of your bag with a hiss of victory. And thankfully, the thick, blocky device didn’t suffer so much as a scratch. The screen still works, surrounding you in a warm orange light when you unlock it, and the tinny beeps of the keys echo about the vast mountain chamber as you search through your contacts for your boss’s number…but you falter before you hit _call…_

You know why the town Matron let you keep your cell – there’s no signal here.

You try the police. An emergency number doesn’t require signal, does it? Haven’t the telecommunication companies been working on that, recently?

Desperate, fingers trembling, you hit _call_ …

The call seems to go through…but your cry of relief is cut short when the dim ringing crackles, and dissolves into a high pitched whine that pierces your eardrum. You tear your cell from your ear with a shout, terminating the call before the sound can deafen you.     

No signal…no way to call for help…

You drop your phone and press your face to your knees, fresh tears pouring down your cheeks. The Matron was determined to make an example of you, throwing you into the underground like she had done so many others before you, where the old creatures of sin lurked in the shadows.

You choke back a sob and think back to your teachings from when you were young – teachings that you had once dismissed as old, mindless drivel. They will help you get through this. Remember the basic qualities that make a soul pure; hope, restraint… Do not lose sight of those qualities…you must hold fast to them if you are going to survive Mt. Ebott.

“You can do this,” you whisper to yourself.

You shuffle onto your knees, and wince when your injured leg protests against the awkward angle. Instead, you lay down on your side and press your head to the soft, flower-covered ground.

And you do the only thing you can think to do; you pray.

“Angel, hear me,” you whisper, the prayer you had been taught since childhood, repeated night after night with your parents before bed, at every service, forever imprinted in your mind, “I beg you to cast your gaze upon me and bless me with your protective hand…”

You know what you must do; you must conquer the mountain with your soul still intact.

 _You came here to learn of what happens to the people who go missing,_ the Matron had taunted as the women dragged you into the cave, towards the pit – the only known entrance to the forbidden Underground. _Well, this is what happens._

The Matron had laughed when you struggled against your captors’ hands. _And, my dear…no one makes it out of the mountain._

No one really knows what happens to the humans who fall into the Underground, only that they are never seen again. You can only assume that they get eaten by the monsters trapped within it…

You continue to pray in a hushed voice, willing your voice not to break. If you can somehow hold onto your purity and make it through the mountain, you can, apparently, pass through the Barrier keeping the monsters trapped. You can return to the city of New Ebott, and get out of this messed up town. You can go home…

The Matron told you that you were weak – _Remember…where there is purity, there is lust_ … You had a soul that was easily corruptible, the weakest of the seven traits, according to the townspeople – they all insisted that had you been blessed with a virtuous soul, or an honest soul, maybe you would have a better chance at surviving the Underground.

 _Maybe_.

You didn’t believe any of this. Your home town – a small, isolated little settlement, just like this one – still believed in the ways of your ancestors, who sealed the monsters away. That’s why you’d left in the first place, desperate to get away from all the stifling nonsense that the elderly population spat out.

Now? Now you might just become a believer…

“…may your light shield my soul from corruption. Bless me with hope, shackle me with your power so that I may remember restraint…”

_No one makes it out of the mountain…_

Of course they don’t. All of those missing persons reports, piled up on your desk at work, told you well enough that they had all been unsuccessful.

No…you must. You have to! You have to get back to your family…

Will they soon learn of your disappearance, and call for an investigation? Would they care? They have never quite forgiven you for leaving home to live in the big city… _near that mountain_ …

Would they even know where to look for you?

The Matron will have destroyed your research by now, all of the information you had gathered on the town and it’s sinister secrets. Anyone calling the guesthouse – your boss, your roommate – will be informed that you had simply disappeared, yet another poor soul vanished off the face of the earth without a trace. And it will be blamed on the Underground – most unexplained disappearance usually were.

“…guide me with your loving hand, steer me from temptation, and deliver me to salvation…”

The Matron knows that you will never make it out. No one will know the truth behind this place –

Then, so quietly, a tiny sound echoes about the cavern.

You sit up with a gasp, clutching you hands to your chest to somehow quieten your frantic heartbeat. The soft sound fades, and you gaze about the cave, searching for the source. It sounded like a voice…

“Is someone there?” you gasp.

No one answers you.

You try to stand, but pain lances up your leg, and you stumble, falling back down onto the bed of roses.

You sob – you may well be hearing things, so overcome with fear. You hold your breath, straining your ears for the phantom sound again, but there’s only the eerie trickle of distant water, and the soft rustling of petals, disturbed by a gentle breeze. 

You sigh with relief. You are quite alone. No monster has come for you. You are safe, for now…

With your leg in such bad shape, you cannot possibly outrun a monster. The only thing you can do is hide away somewhere and wait for the pain to ease enough so you can walk. If you can ration out your supplies carefully and find that source of water, you may survive the next few days without detection –

You hear the sound again.

Clamping a hand over your mouth, you press down into the roses, making yourself as small as possible. It’s definitely a voice; a monster must have heard you fall, and come to investigate.

You mouth the prayer behind your hand. “Angel, hear me, I beg you to cast your gaze upon me and bless me with your protective hand…”

Will the monster make it quick? Will they swallow you in one go, or will they make a decent meal of you? Will they even eat you at all?

_Lust, immorality, deceit, oblivion, sin, betrayal, pride…all are the Horned God’s forte._

You remember the ominous scripture that the Patron recited during the services you attended, repeating it each day, again and again, hammering it into the minds of the village so that it would stick.

And you remember your own father, your home town’s Patron, reading the same scripture as you watched on with your mother sitting beside you, looking on with complete and utter adoration.

This place… _this mountain_ was the Horned God’s domain.

“…see me and know that I am your servant, and may your light shield my soul from corruption; look into my soul and bless me with hope, shackle me with your power…”

The terrifying king of the monsters, who commanded a vast race of monsters who had gorged themselves on human souls, before they were sealed away, four-hundred years ago… 

“…so that I may remember restraint –”

“Are you…?” the voice says, and you squeak.

It sounds like…a child’s voice?

You lift your head ever so slightly, searching the cavern for the owner of the voice, but the cave is empty.

“Y-you’re a human,” the voice finally says after a long pause. “A-aren’t you?”

You bite your lip. Is this some kind of trick? What on earth is a _child_ doing down here? 

This can’t be real – you may have snapped, imagining voices to cope with the panic. Or perhaps you’re not actually awake. Maybe you’d hit your head upon landing, and knocked yourself unconscious. “Am I dreaming?”

There’s a pause, then… “N-no? No, I d-don’t think so…”

You push yourself up, mindful of the rose thorns. “Where…where are you?” You study the walls of the cave, the eroding pillars circling you, then you carefully examine the field of flowers.

There’s no immediate answer, and you frantically search for the voice among the roses.

“Hello?” you call.

…

There’s no answer. You were _definitely_ imagining the voice…

But you call for them anyway. “Please…come back!”

You don’t want to be alone in here, waiting for some monster to find you, injured and afraid – even an imaginary voice would be a welcome comfort in such a grim place.

“Come back…” you mumble weakly.

But the voice is gone.

A ragged gasp escapes you, and you clamp your hand over your mouth to hold in the rest, focusing on breathing deeply through your nose. It will do you no good to collapse into a fit of hysterics now, or pass out from hyperventilation…especially when you are still out in the open. 

Slinging your backpack over your shoulder, you crawl as carefully as you can over the roses, towards the edge of the cave where the shadows are thickest, cast by a ledge jutting from the side of the cavern. The roses don’t stretch that far, unable to grow shielded from the natural light, leaving a soft-looking patch of grass that looks far more comfortable than a bed of thorns. Perhaps, hidden there, any passing monster won’t see you…

The pain in your leg is excruciating; even the slightest movement feels like a hot needle being driven into the bone. Once you’re in the shaded nook, you press yourself against the wall and assess the wound again; you desperately hope that it isn’t broken.

The long scratch in your skin doesn’t appear to have bled any further, and the blood surrounding it is already drying. But there’s a frighteningly large bruise forming where the pain is worst, and a nasty pink hue around your knee, which you know will darken to a deep purple in a few hours.

You curl into a tight ball in your little hiding place, taking long, deep breaths. You’re not sure how much time passes – seconds, minutes, maybe hours – while you sit in the shadows, just waiting for… _something_ to happen. Perhaps you will see one of the women who dragged you up the mountain, taking pity on you and returning to help. Or maybe the police – perhaps the call went through after all, but you just couldn’t hear on your end of the line? Or maybe your roommate…having come to see why you haven’t returned to New Ebott, yet…

But nobody comes.

You strain your ears for birdsong, for the howl of the wind, but the cavern’s mouth is at the very end of a long, wide path cutting through the mountain, well hidden from the open sky and the elements. You’re honestly surprised that so many roses were able to grow here at all, in this dim pit so far from sunlight and rain.

Unless they’re not normal roses…

It may be some trick of your mind, but the light in the cavern seems to dim with the approaching evening, but you have no idea what time it is. The walls of the cave appear to have stones embedded in them that gleam some strange, pale, almost ethereal light of their own, and their glow only brightens as the minutes tick by.

The temperature in the air suddenly drops, and you know that it must be night. You check your cell – the digital clock in the top corner of the screen reads _20:09_.

You search through the supplies that the Matron had packed in your pack – _All who fall are given even a small chance at survival_. She had made it sound as though she was doing you a favour.  

You pull out the canteen of water first; you should locate the source of that trickling before you empty it, and you’re stuck without liquid. The Matron has provided you with a decently sized loaf of bread, a small bundle of apples, a block of cheese, a few cheap bars of chocolate, five tins of baked beans, and three tins of soup, all wrapped up in a thin cloth; beneath it is a large torch, a butter knife, and a box of matches.

This is it. This is all you have to help you brave the mountain. The torch does look rather heavy, so it could always be used like a club. The knife is hardly sharp, but perhaps with a strong enough swing, you could do some damage?  

Numb, you tear a handful of the bread from the loaf, and eat it slowly – it’s like ash on your tongue.

You attempt to construct a rationing schedule. The chocolate bars you should save for when you need the sugar rush, for that little burst of energy; the cheese, the apples, and the bread will go mouldy quickly, so they should be eaten first; the beans and soup will keep well in their cans…but you haven’t been given a can opener…

You chew your dry lump of bread miserably. You have a couple of potential weapons, a somewhat manageable rationing system…

This time last night, you were at the guesthouse, gathering your research together in preparation for your return to New Ebott. You had even drafted out the news story – it was your best piece, by far. This story would have gotten you a full-time position at the paper, after your internship ended…

This time last night…you never would have imagined that you would wind up in a situation like this.

“You…”

You start, glancing around the cavern, but there’s still no visible source of the voice. You reason that it must all be in your head, but it’s the best company that you’re going to get…

“You’re the first h-human…” the voice continues, “…to fall down here in a while…”

You swallow, and think back to the poor man who was thrown down here less than a year ago… “I suppose I am.”

There’s another beat of silence. “W-why did you fall down?”

You already feel a little calmer, comforted by the return of your imaginary voice, but the memory of the absolute _madness_ in the Matron’s eyes, and the hateful chanting of the crowd provokes an unpleasant twist in your chest, like a blade is cutting deep into your heart.

“Because…” you say slowly, “…I committed a…transgression.”

“What’s a…a _trans-greh-shun?_ ” the voice asks.

You pick at the bread, nibbling the tiny crumbs you tear off. “It’s…when you do something wrong. Like a crime. It’s against the law.”

The following silence stretches on for so long that you think you’re self-made friend has retreated to the recesses of your mind again, until they squeak, “S-so are you a bad person?”

You frown. “I don’t know. Maybe I am.”

As far as the townspeople were concerned, you were guilty for merely coming from New Ebott. The town hated city dwellers, where lust and sex and greed thrived…where the old stories and warnings of your ancestors were disregarded in favour of profit and leisure.    

There’s another long silence. “But you don’t look like a bad person.”

It’s sweet that your voice is trying to comfort you in spite of all the morbid thoughts swarming about your head. “Thank you…but I deserve this.”

“R-really? Why?”

You’re not sure why your voice is forcing you to recount such grim memories, but perhaps your subconscious is offering some form of cathartic release that doesn’t involve crying.

“I shouldn’t have come here in the first place.”

“Um…why?”

You lean your head back against the cool cavern wall, and gingerly extend your injured leg, gazing at the developing bruise, the crusting blood of the scratch. “I came from the city for a story.”

“… What does that mean?”

You take another bite out of the bread. “It means that I came here to investigate something. And…the townspeople didn’t like that.”

“Why not?”

You huff a small laugh – not only does your inner voice sound like a child, but it has the innocent inquisitiveness of one, too. You don’t quite understand why your imaginary voice had taken on the lilt of an infant – perhaps it’s the impression of childish fear, or something poetic like that?

“Because…because they were hiding something,” you settle for. “Something very, very bad. And the Matron didn’t want me to tell anyone. So they did the bad thing to me.”

“What is the bad thing? Oh…”

“Yeah…this is the bad thing.”

The Matron was vicious with her accusations – you had found her a rather intimidating woman in general, and the village council wouldn’t dare challenge her…all of the women were loyal to her, as they were once her pupils.

Your eyes prickle, and you stubbornly close them to keep the tears at bay. “I should have just done that stupid piece about the new museum exhibition. I shouldn’t have tried to prove myself…”

And who were you compared to the Matron? You were no one in this town. And of course, when the Matron had found out that you already had a stain on your record, and the scars to prove it, then it didn’t take much to convince the village that you deserved your one-way ticket to the mountain.

When you realise that the cavern has gone eerily quiet, you open your eyes. There’s the steady, distant trickle of water…the rustle of rose petals, disturbed by an occasional light breeze…

Your voice has vanished again.

With a sigh, you shuffle down the wall until you’re curled up on your side, cushioning your head with your arms, and taking great care to keep your weight off of your injured leg. It’s not a very comfortable position, but you are rather tired from all the emotional stress, and your eyes hurt from your constant weeping. And though the moss and grass beneath you is soft, it’s hardly comparable to your snug, warm mattress at home…

Sleep does not come easy, your growling stomach demanding more sustenance, so you take another miniscule mouthful of bread to satisfy it a little.

It works – or your body has finally given in to exhaustion, because you’re suddenly overcome with weariness. Your sore eyes close without command, and you think you hear the whisper of your voice just as sleep claims you, but you cannot hear the words…

 _This is all just a bad dream_ , is the last thing you tell yourself before you drift off.

…

 _And you’re never waking up_.

You cannot give up just yet.

The world will know what happened to you – you will escape, and tell all.

You have to see justice served.

 

**Author's Note:**

> woo here it is!
> 
> if things dont make sense right now, dont worry, they will!! promise!
> 
> this world has a very 1980's aesthetic about it - the technology is a little blocky and slow, not up to 2019's standard [who remembers dial-up connection lol] but that's mainly because of the monsters' rule for so many years - the development of technology is a little slow [if that clears things up lol]
> 
> hope you enjoyed, and thank you so much for reading!! <3


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